The Way We Will Be
by holly1492
Summary: "What I'm about to say doesn't make any sense, because you had been erased from my memory for so long, but, bloody hell, Hermione, I *missed* you," Ron said. "I think I knew all along that some part of me wasn't whole, though I know you might think that's crazy." This fic is a sequel to another writer's creation: "Making Memories" by ermynee322. Read that first, then this! AU
1. Chapter 1

_Hello there, dear readers!_

 _If you have ever read any of my previous stories, you probably know that I am a huge fan of a 2011 fic entitled "Making Memories" by a writer named ermynee322. I have recommended it to my own readers in author's notes to my stories and on Tumblr and have read and reviewed the story many times._

 _Ever since I first read the story years ago, I've been dying to read a sequel. But, sadly, ermynee322 hasn't been posting much on FFN lately, and that got me wondering whether my craving would ever be satisfied._

 _Anyway, I'm between fics of my own right now and, well ... the other day I started doodling out a rough outline for a sequel to ermynee's story. And I hope ermynee doesn't mind but I've actually taken the liberty of starting to write it. (I reached out via PM to ask, but haven't heard back yet.)_

 _I was feeling tremendously guilty about doing this, figuring she/he would feel that I was somehow infringing on their creation until the irony of it struck me - we're *all* riffing on JKR's original creation, aren't we? So ... with that said …_

 _Here's the first chapter of what I imagine could be a multi-chaptered follow-up to the brilliant "Making Memories."_

 _You, dear reader, will want to go to ermynee322's page and read that story first. (If you don't, the chapters I'm about to post aren't going to make a lick of sense!) And by all means leave a review for "Making Memories" while you're there. It's wonderful. So creative, so inventive, exquisite angst, poignant romance, incredible family feels._

 _Then come back here and read this sequel and let me know what you think. OK?_

 _So, I know this is weird ... it simply isn't done (at least not that I know of) ... but I'm hoping ermynee322 will take this sequel as the compliment that it's intended to be. How meta is this? Fan fiction being written about fan fiction! Go figure._

 _Thanks … and enjoy!_

 _Holly._

oooOOOooo

 **Chapter 1**

With the kind of grace and discretion that would have made Ron swear he was standing anywhere else but inside the overcrowded lounge of his nosy and boisterous family's home, Harry and the assorted Weasleys slowly and quietly withdrew themselves from Ron and Hermione's presence once again, sensing quite correctly that the thing the two of them needed most at that moment—aside from food, which Molly was now organizing with all the energy of a drill sergeant—was privacy. Rose's departure with … well, with *Ron,* oddly enough … had obviously rattled Hermione and everyone seemed to understand that she'd need a few moments to compose herself.

Hermione stood stock still looking up at Ron, her only movement being the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed as well as the steady flow of tears drifting over her cheeks.

Ron had tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and now looked down at the only point of contact between them: their joined hands. The adrenaline of the battle was still flowing through his system like a powerful Renervate charm, and yet he was also exhausted and strangely calm. He stroked her knuckles with his thumb, a gentle movement that sent shivers up his arm and throughout his body. He could hardly fathom it … everything that had happened in the past few days was downright twisted … there was so much new information to make sense of … and yet, the feeling of simply standing there, with Hermione's little hand tucked inside his, was the most natural sensation, something that made absolute sense. Perhaps the *only* thing that made sense, given how thoroughly his world had been turned upside down. He'd met his future self. He'd held and fallen in love with his *child.* And while they were both gone now, one crucial person remained: Hermione. She was in his life again — she'd *saved* his life, for Merlin's sake — and now she was once again his entire future.

"What are you thinking?" she asked quietly, prompting him to lift his eyes to hers.

He shrugged and let out a small laugh. "I wish I could put it into words," he said. "I can't decide what to feel most right now, know what I mean?" He sighed and she nodded in a way that told him she wanted to hear more. "I love you like mad, that's one thing," he said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "And what I'm about to say doesn't make any sense, because you had been erased from my memory for so long, but, bloody hell, Hermione, I *missed* you. I think I knew all along that some part of me wasn't whole, though I know you might think that's crazy."

She sniffled and pressed her hand more tightly around his fingers.

"And I miss … blimey," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I miss our daughter already, even though she's only been gone five minutes, and, erm," he continued, rubbing the back of his neck. "I reckon she doesn't even really exist yet anymore — at least not in this time and place — does she. I can't believe how mental that sounds."

Hermione hiccuped. "I know," she said dolefully. "She's where she needs to be now, but … oh, Ron, I'm not sure I can make you understand … she's been my whole world these past few years. And now she's gone, and … she's been …" Hermione's chin wobbled as she struggled to maintain her composure. "She's been my only connection to you, for so long," Hermione sputtered before melting into tears as Ron pulled her to him in an enormous bear hug.

"Shhhhh," he whispered into her hair. "You're not alone anymore, love. It's the two of us now," he said soothingly, resting his cheek atop the crown of her head. "And someday it'll be the three of us again, Mione. Don't worry." Hermione shuddered, racked with a fresh round of sobs, and Ron pressed her even closer to his chest. "It'll be even better next time, because we'll get to know what it is to have her from the get-go, yeah? We'll get to watch her grow from the moment she's born — even before that." He gulped at the thought — he could hardly believe what he was saying, but it was true. A week or so prior, before Hermione had re-entered his life, the very idea of a baby would have filled him with dread — because, of course, though he never wanted to hurt Lavender, he never fancied marrying her and he *certainly* had no intention of ever raising a family with her. What a difference a week or so — the craziest week he'd ever lived through — had made. Not only did he know he and Hermione were destined to have a child … he treasured the thought.

Hermione, meanwhile, melted into Ron's embrace, wrapping her arms around his middle and hanging on as tight as she could as she buried her face in his chest. She'd dreamt of such a moment for three long, lonely years, and now it was here — and yet, she couldn't seem to stop the tears from flowing. As happy as she was to be reunited with the only man she had ever loved or ever would love, as relieved as she was that this dreadful mission had been lifted from her shoulders, as gratified as she was that Rose was now safe and in the time period where she truly belonged, her daughter's absence felt like a gaping hole in her soul, an ache that felt nearly unbearable. And yet, as Ron's soothing words sank into her consciousness, the sound of his voice and the feel of his gentle touch worked their own kind of magic, and she found herself feeling calmer, more equal to the task at hand — which, she realized, was simply to start living again, one small step at a time.

"You feeling better, my love?" Ron whispered through a small, watery smile as Hermione's breathing eased and her sniffles slowly ceased.

She nodded, her cheek still pressed against his chest.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"Mmm. Sounds like your Mum's doing what she does best," Hermione said, her voice still sounding a little hoarse. "She's obviously putting together a meal to feed and army."

Ron chuckled. "Didn't you know? Food is the answer to every problem, Miss Granger." He pulled back and tucked his finger beneath her chin, tipping her face upward toward his. "Mum's right about one thing, though: We'll think better on a full stomach. Let's feed you up and then we'll go from there, OK?"

Agreeing with a shy smile and a nod, Hermione placed her hand in his and, after he gave her a swift kiss to the temple, they proceeded hand-in-hand into the dining room.

There, they found the rest of the family noisily engaged in putting food on the table — toting platters in from the kitchen, drawing up chairs, placing plates and utensils all around.

"There you are, dears," said Molly as they entered, pausing only long enough to place a basket of dinner rolls on the table before pulling Hermione into a tight hug. "Oh, my darling girl," she enthused. "Come on, now, let's get some cottage pie into you."

It would go down as one of the most memorable — and the most odd — meals in this family's wild and woolly history As everyone around the table struggled to make sense of everything that had happened that day, there were long, anxious silences that would give way, without warning, to sudden outbursts of clamorous talking, as everyone simultaneously blurted out their latest thought, their shared disbelief over Hermione's sacrifice, reliving everything they saw in the Pensieve, and marveling at the feeling of having met a family member whom they would somehow meet again.

Feeling snug and cozy seated between Ron and Harry, Hermione savored the feeling of once again being surrounded by a hilarious, raucous roomful of Weasleys. When they first sat down to dine, Ron and Hermione held hands beneath the table, but when it became difficult to do so and eat at the same time — because, frankly, Ron was famished and devouring everything in sight, and Hermione was very nearly able to keep up with him in the early going — he settled for entwining his foot between hers and pulling her leg up against his, rubbing his shoulder against hers as often as he could manage. It was almost as if both of them needed one another's reassuring touch in order to fully believe that it was all real — they were really together, and were going to stay that way. Ron paused to drop a kiss on Hermione's cheek now and then, not caring that a whole roomful of people could see. After all, there seemed little reason to be coy about it anymore. Everybody now knew Ron and Hermione were meant to be together — that they would be a family unto themselves someday — and the thought sent a fresh frisson of joy and disbelief through Ron's body.

Hermione, for her part, felt that happy tremor and, looping her arm through Ron's, rested her cheek on his shoulder and watched him eat, quietly smiling and listening to the family banter, blinking back occasional happy tears and blushing profusely when the conversation turned to her and her heroics.

"I can hardly believe what you did there at the end, Hermione — or what *you* did for that matter, Ron," said Percy.

Harry cleared his throat and took a sip of pumpkin juice. "Actually, I can," he said quietly, but during a break in the conversation that made it possible for everyone around the table to hear him. He turned to look at Hermione and smiled. "It's what incredibly brave women do for the ones they love, isn't it."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione whispered, tears once again rising in her eyes as she disengaged from Ron's arm and pulled Harry into a tight hug.

"Well, it'll be one for the history books, that's for sure," said Bill as Harry and Hermione slowly disengaged from their embrace. "Two people who have survived the Avada Kevadra curse in one family. It's just … well, if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't have believed it."

"Oh, heavens," said Molly, dabbing at her eyes with her napkin, "when I think how close we came to losing one or both of you…"

George patted his mother's hand. "Let's not talk about that then," he said with a devious grin. "Let's talk about Future Ron, Superstud, shall we? Blimey, Ronniekins, it would seem you're going to be doing a lot of working out in the next few years."

Ron laughed. "Actually, I thought I looked a little doughy around the middle there," he said, reaching for another dinner roll. "I'm going to have to watch out for that."

"You looked fine," Hermione said as she squeezed his arm and settled her cheek against his shoulder once again. "More than fine."

Silence descended again as everyone gathered 'round the table once again privately relived the amazing sight of a somewhat older Ron cradling a red-headed toddler in his arms.

"Such a beautiful child," Fleur said absently. "Rose, I mean."

"She was lovely," Ginny said with a nod. "Is lovely. Will be lovely? It's hard to know how to think of her."

Ron wrapped an arm around Hermione and pulled her close, knowing any talk of Rose was likely going to be difficult for Hermione to hear just then. And yet, to his amazement, a little curl of a smile tugged at the corners of Hermione's mouth. She met his gaze and gave him a little nod that told him she was all right.

"Amazingly powerful little thing, wasn't she?" said Audrey.

"And so smart," said Percy.

"Brave as hell, too," George added.

"Indeed," said Arthur, clearing his throat and pushing his plate away. "Though we shouldn't be surprised, should we?" He gave Ron and Hermione a small smile before continuing. "She was, is and will be a treasured part of this family. So I say, as we count the days until she's with us again, let's keep a place for her in our hearts."

"Hear, hear," said Bill, raising his mug of butterbeer. "To Rose."

"To Rose," the group murmured in reply, solemnly clinking their various glasses and mugs together as Hermione fought down a burning lump in her throat.

Just then, a silver panther — the Patronus of Auror chief Theodore Trottle — slid into the room through the window and circled the table.

"Potter, Weasley — I should congratulate you, but that will have to wait until I see you in person and, of course, until all the requisite paperwork is filled out," Trottle's voice intoned. Harry rolled his eyes and let out a long groan. "Potter," Trottle message continued, "as ranking officer on the scene of today's encounter with Dark agents, I'll expect a full report tomorrow. Weasley, under the circumstances, it's only fitting that you take a week off. I hope that's understood. Good work today, boys."

And, with that, the panther Patronus skulked from the room.

"Bloody paperwork!" Harry moaned melodramatically, dropping his head into his hands, but his shoulders shook with laughter.

"Sorry, mate," Ron said, slapping him on the shoulder from behind Hermione's back. "If you want me to go in tomorrow and file the report with you, I can certainly—"

"Are you out of your mind?" Harry said, wiping a tear from his eye and stifling a grin. "If surviving a Killing Curse doesn't earn you a few days off, Ron, I don't know what will."

"Good point."

By then, Molly and Audrey had begun clearing away dishes from the table, and Hermione rose to help. Bill and Fleur began gathering Victoire and her things, intending to Floo back to Shell Cottage. Angie and George started talking about heading back to their flat above Wheezes themselves, and soon the party began breaking up, one by one, two by two, until Ron was able to take Hermione, who was scrubbing dishes in the kitchen, by the elbow and pull her into the pantry for a bit of privacy.

"So, erm, it seems as if everybody's sort of heading home for the night," he said softly. "Long day, yeah? S'pose everybody could use some rest."

Hermione searched his face. She'd been actively putting off the thought of what might happen next. She certainly didn't want to go back to Cornwall tonight — too many memories of Rose were there — but she knew she'd have to go back eventually to sort everything out. Of course, she knew she and Ron could stay at the Burrow, but then … it wasn't the most private setting, was it. What other options were there?

"I was thinking," Ron continued, his ears growing red. "Um, would you, uh, come home with me tonight?"

Hermione blinked. Home? Ron's home? Wait, wasn't Lavender there? Impossible …

Ron's brow furrowed as he read Hermione's face. "I mean, we could stay here if you want," he sputtered. "I'm sure Mum and Dad wouldn't mind, and—"

"But, I thought," Hermione said, cutting him off. "I thought, um, well … didn't you send Lavender home?"

Ron's brow crinkled further. "Yeah, I did," he said. "So?"

"So … we can't … I mean, we shouldn't go there, should we?"

Suddenly, Ron's face lit up with a look of comprehension — and then a broad smile. "Hermione," he said softly, placing his hands on her shoulders, "Lavender and I don't live together. Never have. She's at *her* home. I'm asking you to come to *mine.*"

Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh," she said sheepishly, as the meaning of his words sank in. "Oh!" she added with a slowly widening smile. "Well then … what are we waiting for?"

oooOOOooo

 _A/N — There's more to come, dear readers!_

 _Once again, I have to bow down to the superior imagination and intelligence of ermynee322. I hope this sequel does her/his work justice. Stay tuned for more._

 _In the meantime, please review and share this story with others, won't you?_

 _Cheers,_

 _Holly._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Don't worry, this is a wizarding neighborhood," Ron said quietly as he tucked Hermione's hand into the crook of his arm and guided her away from the empty bus stop where they'd landed after Side-Alonging from The Burrow. He shifted his rucksack on his shoulders, stuffed as it was with the fresh change of clothes Ginny had lent to Hermione as well as assorted treats from Molly, and he led Hermione down a gaily lit street lined on both sides with brightly painted shopfronts. Though he was still too keyed up from the day's events to drop his Auror-ingrained habit of scanning the surroundings for threats, he still had the presence of mind to note the warm smile that came to Hermione's face as she took in the sights.

"Where are we?" she asked, looking up to note the twinkling fairy lights strung from lightpost to lightpost above their heads.

"Well, technically we're in Camden right here, though my flat's actually between Camden and Little Venice," he said, pointing his head to the left as they turned down a quieter residential street. "Regent Canal's just beyond that row of houses over there — I've got a great view of it from my flat, actually — and Browning's Pool is just up the way a few blocks."

Hermione hummed approvingly. "I guess I didn't expect you to be living in the city."

"Well, I sort of fell in love with the area when Harry and I did officer training," he said, slowing down so she could better keep up with his long strides. "The facility is in Camden Town. There's lots of little bits of nature around like the canal and Hampstead Heath and whatnot. And there's loads of wizards who live around here, so…"

"I've been to this neighborhood so many times growing up, but I never knew it was a wizarding area," she said.

"Oh yeah, always has been," Ron replied with a shrug, a smile warming his face. "Well, it's mixed. Camden's always been kind of a funky place, hasn't it. You look at somebody on the street and you have to think, 'Is that guy a wizard or a hippie?' Hard to tell the difference sometimes."

Hermione laughed as a man turned the corner and strode past them in the lamplight, his bright purple velvet pants clashing riotously with his lime-green boots and flaming red jacket. "I see your point," she said in a low tone as Ron paused at a lantern-lit red gate in the middle of a vine-covered wall of worn brown bricks that stood taller than Ron's head.

"Well, here we are," Ron said. Then he extracted his wand from his back pocket. "Give me your hand."

Hermione pulled her fingers away from Ron's elbow and, with a quizzical glance, laid her hand palm up in his.

"Palmae Clauditus," Ron said as he waved his wand, and Hermione felt a warm, tingling sensation across the skin of her hand. "OK, love, now wrap your fingers around the gate handle."

Hermione did as she was told and the handle glowed, warm and orange, in her hand before cooling back down to its original iron color.

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "You wouldn't have learnt this one at Hogwarts," he said as he lifted her fingers from the handle and gave her palm a gentle kiss. "It's a specialized locking charm developed by the Auror lab. Now you and I are the only two people who can open this gate."

"Brilliant," Hermione murmured.

"Have a bash, then."

And, to Hermione's delight, the gate opened for her with a reassuring click. She stepped through to find a small garden surrounding what looked to be a modest two-story brick house. "One of my mates from work owns it," Ron explained. "He and his wife live on the first floor. I rent the second-floor flat from them."

With a tug at his rucksack handle, Ron took Hermione by the hand and led her to the back of the house, where there was a staircase to the second story. She found, as she followed Ron up step by step, that she could indeed see the canal from this vantage point, the narrow waterway still bustling with traffic even at this late hour.

"It's charming," she said as they reached the landing outside Ron's door.

Ron laughed. "Well, I'm glad you like the view out here. What's inside isn't much. And it's not exactly neat as a pin." Another Palmae Clauditis later and Hermione was opening the door. She thought, with a wry smile, that Ron may have been right to lower her expectations, because it was indeed a tiny little flat, but it wasn't nearly as bad as he has made it out to be. In fact, as he waved his wand to light a nearby lantern, she saw that she stood in a rather homey little room. There was a long blue sofa in one corner, which she thought she recognized as a hand-me-down from Shell Cottage, as well as a pair of comfy-looking armchairs, all arranged on a dark blue rug. In the opposite corner stood a small round dining table with two chairs, and she could make out the inside of a tiny kitchen through the doorway just beyond. To her surprise, there was nary a Chudley Cannons poster in sight on the lounge's whitewashed walls. There were no dirty clothes strewn about the place. The bookshelves contained framed photographs displayed alongside various official-looking medals and honors as well as books on chess, quidditch and Defensive Arts. A lovingly polished chess board rested on the coffee table. There was even a plant. A cactus, to be sure, but still. The flat looked lived-in but tidy. It wasn't boyish. It was a man's home. She quite liked it.

Her eye fell on the painting hanging above the sofa, and she smiled, stepping toward it. "Saw that at an art fair at Camden Market one day and just had to have it," Ron said. "Reminded me of the view from Gryffindor Tower." And it did so for Hermione as well — within the large, rectangular frame was a handpainted landscape of mountainous, heather-covered hills and cliffs, with a large lake in the foreground. On a hill in the middle distance, wandering through a meadow, was the shape of a young woman, back turned to the artist, her skirt and her curly brown hair blowing in the imaginary breeze.

Ron moved next to Hermione and lightly touched the point where the figure's dark locks waved in the wind. "Can't tell you how many times I stood here staring at that girl," he said just above a whisper as he dropped his hand back to his side. "I guess now I know why, don't I."

Unsure of his meaning, she looked up at him wordlessly, searching his face.

"You may have removed yourself from my memory, but you could never completely erase every trace, Hermione," he said through a sad smile. "I reckon there was always something there. A ghost image of you maybe … a space where you should have been. I was sad a lot when you were gone, felt lonely sometimes even in a big crowd."

Hermione's heart panged at the forlorn tone in his voice. She took his hand in hers. "I'm so sorry, Ron. Honestly."

He turned and gazed at her with a look of mild surprise, as if she'd snapped him out of a deep sleep. "Wait, Hermione," he said, his brow slowly furrowing, "you're not … are you actually *apologizing* to me?"

"Well, yes," she replied earnestly, "of course. I know what I did hurt you very much, and I—"

"Mione, stop right there," Ron said sternly with a quick shake of the head, cutting her off. "You did what you had to do," he added, cupping her cheek in his hand and wiping away the tear coursing down it. "You did what you did to protect me — and to protect Rose, which was even more important," he continued, his voice softening. "I'll never get over what you did. I'll never be able repay what I owe you — what the whole wizarding world owes you, for the love of Merlin. It's *me* who should be apologizing, not you."

Hermione blinked a few times rapidly, her face flushed with the heat of an emotion she couldn't even name. She flung herself at him a moment later, pressing her cheek firmly against his chest and looping her arms tightly around his torso. And as they sank onto the sofa and resumed a tearful embrace very similar to the one they'd wrapped one another in within the lounge of The Burrow, he smiled to himself, figuring they were bound to have many more such moments in the days ahead — times when the realization of what they'd lost and what they'd gained would just be too much, and one or both of them would simply have to dissolve into tears.

"You don't owe me any apologies," Hermione whispered against his chest a few minutes later, when she was finally able to regain her voice.

He stroked her hair and let out a little grumble. "Of course I do," he said. "When I think of some of the shit I pulled when Harry and I first found you, the things I said … I want to kick myself *hard,* Hermione, I really do."

She leaned back and looked up at him, pleased to see the warmth in his eyes. "You didn't know. You *couldn't* know. And you were hurting," she said. "I don't blame you. I don't blame you at all for reacting the way you did. Please know that."

"I should have had more faith — should have known you'd have a damn good reason," he said as he tilted his forehead against hers.

"You had so little to go on, Ron," she countered. "You couldn't have known."

"I *should* have known," he said roughly, though his volume was lower now. "I should have known better."

"Shhh," she said, stroking his upper arm. "I needed you to believe the worst. I needed you to doubt me," she continued. "Anything less and, well … let's face it: Shraxen and Willigsby might have succeeded."

Ron's jaw tensed at the thought. She had a point, but … "I still don't like it," he said.

She smiled weakly. "Well, neither did I." She lifted her hand to his cheek. "That's over now, though. We have to keep reminding ourselves — the worst bit is behind us."

They touched lips then, softly, but Ron quite consciously held back, aware that if he started snogging Hermione now, he could easily get swept away on the tide of emotions that had threatened to engulf him all day, and he didn't want to risk frightening or overwhelming her. They were both physically and emotionally exhausted.

"Maybe we ought to get cleaned up and get some rest, eh?" he said softly as he planted a kiss on her cheek and then her nose.

Hermione let out a long sigh. "Oh yes," she murmured. "A hot shower sounds heavenly."

He took her by the hand and led her to the bedroom, lighting a lantern along the way. The room was dominated by an extremely large bed — "the biggest I could find," Ron admitted. A dark blue duvet was piled on top — clearly Ron wasn't the type to make his bed every morning — and mounds of pillows were propped against a giant mahogany headboard.

The only nod to his Chudley Cannons obsession was the framed pair of tickets hanging above the bedtable. "Harry and I were there when the Cannons finally beat Puddlemere," Ron explained, dropping the overstuffed rucksack to the armchair opposite the bed as Hermione eyed the frame. "Wanted to have the tickets as a keepsake, I guess."

Hermione opened the rucksack and soon realized Ginny had neglected to include a nightgown among the jeans, blouse, jumper, underwear and clean socks she had so graciously provided for her. Ron stepped toward the dresser in his bedroom and shuffled through a pile of old T-shirts. Standing next to him, Hermione gasped when her eyes landed on one of her old favorites. "Oh, that one — may I?" she whispered, biting her lower lip as she pointed at the shirt that had caught her eye.

"This old thing?" Ron said as he withdrew his ancient old quidditch team practice jersey, the burgundy color faded and the stitched on cotton lettering — "G-R-Y-F-F-I-N-D-O-R" — now a pale, laundered gold.

"Oh, I always loved that one," she said with a smile. "You looked so fit in it."

Ron raised his eyebrows and laughed. "Well, it's been at the bottom of this drawer for ages because it's about two sizes too small for me nowadays. You can keep it if you like."

"Oh I like. Very much," Hermione said with a grin.

They took turns showering and changing in the loo adjoining Ron's bedroom. When Hermione stepped out wearing nothing but his jersey, which reached a point several inches beneath her bum, Ron swallowed hard, hoping he'd be able to keep his resolution to go slow with her that night. She was as beautiful as ever in the lantern light, her damp locks framing her face.

"Umm," she said shyly. "Do you … may I borrow your wand? I'd like to dry my hair before bed," she said, turning a bit pink in the cheeks when she heard herself say the word "bed."

"Huh?" Ron said distractedly. "Uh … oh! Yeah. Oh yeah." _Blimey, Weasley, get a hold of yourself._ "I keep forgetting you don't have a wand anymore. Erm, here you go."

"Thank you," she said softly, averting her eyes and wondering at her own sudden bout of timidity. "Goodness," she chirped, feeling the need to keep the conversation going despite — or because of — the awkwardness, "I think I've forgotten the charm for drying hair."

"Torrefacio."

"Oh yes! How silly of me. It's just … well, it's been a long time since I've used magic."

Soon her hair was fluffy and dry and there was nothing left to do to delay the thing that was making her heart flutter with nervousness. As she sheepishly handed Ron's wand back to him, he caught the feeble smile on her face and took her hand in his.

"Hey," he said simply, moving closer and willing her to meet his gaze. "It's only me, you know."

She laughed slightly then, flicking her eyes downward to their joined hands before returning them to his face. "I know," she said in a small voice.

"C'mere."

She stepped into his arms then and allowed him to pull her into a tight hug as she looped her arms around his neck. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her cheek pressed against his. "It's just, I've pictured … this … for so long, and at the same time I used to force myself *not* to picture it, because it just hurt too much."

He hummed his understanding, and she continued. "Now that I'm here and you're here and it's real," she said, "I just don't quite know what to do with myself."

He loosened his hold on her slightly and leaned back to look at her. "All you have to do for now is climb into this bed with me and go to sleep," he said, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "I just want to sleep with you in my arms. We've done that before, yeah?"

They had, in fact, but just once, and more than three years prior — on the night following the Battle of Hogwarts. They'd collapsed, side-by-side, in Ron's Gryffindor Tower four-poster, snogging like their lives depended on it until sleep deprivation and physical fatigue caught up with them and they slumbered deeply in one another's arms.

She nodded, smiling at the memory.

Smiling back reassuringly, he waved his wand toward the bed, and the duvet magically rose and straightened itself before landing back on the mattress, one corner folded down invitingly.

Hermione laughed despite her nerves, placed her hand in his and followed him to the bed, where Ron threw back the covers a bit wider and helped her climb in. He followed just behind her, slipping a few pillows beneath her head and tucking the blankets snugly around her.

"Comfy?" he asked as he curled up on his side next to her, drawing her into his arms.

"Very," she said. "You?"

He sighed and waved his wand to extinguish the lantern before answering. "Never better, love."

He'd wanted to say more, but the events of the day were catching up with him. He'd organized a few thoughts to share — mainly, that he could scarcely believe his good fortune in having her back, and how he'd never wanted to let her out of his sight ever again, but before he'd had a chance to give voice to any of these notions, the sound of a light snore reached his ears, and he realized that Hermione had already slipped off into a deep sleep.

Grinning to himself, he pulled her a bit closer and planted a kiss on her forehead. "Sweet dreams, love."

oooOOOooo

 _A/N — I should have mentioned that this story precedes ermynee322's Epilogue. But perhaps you figured that out for yourself._

 _I should also mention that this title is a riff on the title of one of my all-time favorite tear-jerker movies, "The Way We Were."_

 _There's more to come. How am I doing so far? Review and let me know!_

 _Cheers,_

 _Holly._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

 _Rose … running … laughing … her chubby hands curled into determined little fists … freckled arms flailing wildly against a clear blue sky as she nearly tumbles, still laughing, down a rolling, grassy slope … curly auburn-red locks drifting in a warm breeze. Her laugh, like the tinkling of sleigh bells, ringing out as she reaches, falling, into a pair of waiting arms … her father's arms…_

Ron sat up in bed with a jolt. Just a heartbeat behind him, Hermione awakened, pulling herself upright from her pillow, taking a moment to register just where she was.

"Rose," Ron said, turning to look down at Hermione. "Did you," he continued, his voice still hoarse from sleep, though he wasn't sure how to put his thought into words.

"I was dreaming about her just now," Hermione replied, rubbing her eyes.

"Yeah, she was running to me. We were playing, the three of us, and—"

"Wait, you were dreaming that, too?"

"Dreaming what?"

"Dreaming about playing with Rose," Hermione said, as she slowly pulled herself up to look more closely at Ron's moonlit face.

"Yeah," he answered, rubbing the back of his neck. Even in the dim light, she could see a smile come to the corners of his lips, and she couldn't help smiling back, though her astonishment threatened to overrule every other emotion at that moment.

"We were on a great big lawn somewhere, the three of us," Hermione said softly. "I had taken her by the hands swinging her round and round in circles — she always loved doing that, though we'd both get terribly dizzy — and then I set her down …"

"… and she was laughing so hard," Ron said, a look of warm amazement in his eyes. "I called her and she came running to me, though she looked—" he let out a short laugh tinged with tears—"she looked nearly drunk, she was so dizzy."

"But she kept running," Hermione said, sitting up straighter. She was more sure now than she had been before, more awake, but her memory was clear. "She ran into your arms, and you laid back on the grass and lifted her above you," Hermione said, her voice choked with tears, "and she put out her arms and pretended she was flying."

Ron was silent for a moment. "You saw it, too?"

She nodded. "All of it."

"You mean, we were having the same dream at the same time?"

She wiped a tear from her eye. "Mmm hmm."

"Blimey," Ron breathed.

They sat like that for a few moments, silently staring at one another and privately reliving the dream.

Then Ron took Hermione's hand in his. "What was it, then? I've never experienced anything like that before."

Hermione shrugged. "If I still had my magical books, I could look it up to double-check, but I think we just experienced Eodem Tempore Somnium. It's a type of involuntary magic. A simultaneous dream."

"Merlin bless me," Ron breathed. "Do you … do you think it means anything?"

Hermione stroked his hand lovingly in both of hers, noting the planes of it, the interplay of light and shadow against his skin the semi-darkness. "I think we may have been given a glimpse of where she is now," Hermione said with a sniffle. "Maybe it was meant to make us feel better. She's happy."

This thought struck Ron forcibly, and he felt a flash of familiar warmth as he put the pieces together in his heart, his mind catching up just a moment later. "She sent that message to us," he said with conviction.

Hermione looked up at him, searching his face.

"Rose. She was always a powerful little thing — magic like I've never seen before," Ron continued. "She sent us that Somnium Tempore thing, whatever it was, for a reason. She wants us to know she's OK. She wants us to know…" His words trailed off as he lost the power to speak over the burning lump in his throat.

"She wants us to know she loves us," Hermione supplied.

And that opened the floodgates for both of them. Ron wrapped his arms around Hermione and pressed her against the mattress, tears flowing freely down his face as he held her, pinned snugly beneath him. Hermione, sobbing too, stroked his back with her arms and kissed his cheek, his neck, his shoulders as he cried into the pillow next to her ear. Soon he was able to speak again, just barely, and pulled himself up enough to press kisses against her cheeks, her temple, her forehead, her nose, and finally her lips. "Gods, I love you so much, Hermione," he murmured between kisses. "So much. Let's not wait too long," he said. "Promise me."

She knew what he meant, and she felt the same. "It won't be long, darling," she answered tearfully. "I want her back, too. More than I can say."

oooOOOooo

 _ **A/N**_ _— This was a shortie for me — just about 900 words! I hope you enjoyed it._

 _I'm trying to keep the story moving for fear of boring you. I admit that I'm hyper-sensitive to that possibility since a reviewer wrote this about one of my other stories, "What's Changed—And What Hasn't":_

 _"I'm enjoying the story so far, but I will admit that I've skimmed over some lines to get to the good stuff. Sometimes there is just too much internal dialog for My taste."_

 _This comment bummed me out, but then it also made me laugh because, as some of you may recall, I bridled at a review of my story "All In" in which a reader complained that my writing bordered on pornographic._

 _So … I'm guilty of writing too much smut … and not writing enough smut. Que?_

 _Anyway, I suppose what I really ought to do is keep writing stuff that suits *me,* and hope that it suits you, too. If it does, please leave me a review and let me know how I'm doing. Are you entertained? Bored? Scandalized? Do weigh in, won't you?_

 _Cheers,_

 _Holly._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Hermione awakened first, smiling at the realization of where she was — wrapped securely in Ron's viselike grasp. He had been lying on his side, holding her close beneath the rumpled duvet not only with his arms but with his legs locked tight around hers. She laid still, cheek resting on his muscular bicep, eyes adjusting to the early morning light filtering in through the curtains, savoring the feeling of being entirely wrapped up in Ronald Weasley. With her ear pressed to his chest, she could hear the reassuring sound of his heartbeat. She was actually in his bed. This wasn't just another of the many fantasies she'd spun in her mind — and then savagely stifled — during another desperate night in Cornwall. No, this was real. She was home.

She didn't want to wake him, and yet she felt the need to stretch her legs a bit, and she winced as her slight movement caused him to stir. She didn't think it was possible, but Ron actually tightened his grip on her then, muttering something unintelligible under his breath and then repeating it a minute or so later when he began to emerge from slumber, breathing it out a bit more clearly this time: "Errr-my-neeeeeee."

She smiled and ran the hand that had been tucked against his chest upward toward his chin. Though she was pressed as close to him as she reckoned she could possibly be, she was still able to lever her head upward just enough to study his face. He slowly opened his eyes, and her heart fluttered as the light of recognition warmed them.

"Oh, thank Merlin," Ron said huskily as he slowly blinked himself awake. "You're really here."

Biting her lip, she chuckled and nodded. "Mmm hmm."

"Thought maybe you were a figment of my imagination for a second," he said, loosening his grip on her enough to lean back and look her over. "You're beautiful in the morning, did you know that?"

She laughed out loud in response and slapped his chest lightly. "You're mad. I'm sure my hair is sticking out in ten different directions, and my breath is probably foul."

"No fouler than mine," Ron replied with a half grin. "C'mere." He planted a small kiss on her lips and then rolled back flat against the mattress, dragging her along with him so that she was now lying halfway atop him. "Did you sleep well?" he asked as he tugged gently at one of her audaciously messy curls and twisted it around his finger.

She kissed the tip of his nose before answering. "That was, without a doubt, the best sleep I've had in years," she said. "You?"

He laughed and stretched before returning his gaze to her face. "Honestly, love, you're not going to believe me when I say this but — even with that interruption in the middle of the night — I don't think I've slept like that since the night of the Battle of Hogwarts."

Hermione couldn't help but smile at the memory of being curled up beside him within the wine-red curtains of his Hogwarts four-poster. "Come to think of it," she said, tapping her lip with her finger, "that was the best night's sleep of my life until now."

He kissed the hair curled about his finger. "That settles it then. We're sleeping together from here on out."

Hermione laughed and sat up, making a show of stretching and throwing back the duvet — an attempt to distract his attention away from her rapidly reddening cheeks as she rose to head for the loo. Ron captured her hand before she could slip away from him, however, and tugged her back to the bed. She tumbled backward, laughing, and leaned across his chest.

"I'm actually serious," he said, though the lopsided grin betrayed him just a bit. "You're staying with me from now on, right? Not just for a night or two."

The earnest look on his face, coupled with that half-smile that always took her breath away, melted Hermione's heart anew. She couldn't have resisted him if she wanted to — and she very much didn't want to. Instead, she nodded and smiled, though her cheeks were warming painfully from a bout of shyness that she couldn't quite account for.

"We don't have to live here, by the way," he continued, misreading her quietness. "I mean, I know this place is tiny. We could certainly look around — there's loads of bigger flats nearby, or maybe you'd prefer the country, though you—"

"I love this place," Hermione said, interrupting him. "I'd like to stay right here — with you," she added, averting her eyes momentarily, "at least for now. Um, If that's OK."

Ron chuckled. "It's more than OK. That's what I've been trying to tell you, woman."

He grasped her by the shoulders then and pulled her to him, planting a firm kiss on her lips. "Now that we understand one another," he said when they came up for air, "I'll let you make that trip to the loo."

"Why, thank you very much, kind sir," she replied with a mock aristocratic air, and he swatted her bum lightly in response as she rose to leave the bed.

Breakfast was a simple affair, with Ron scrambling a few eggs and making a batch of toast while Hermione lingered at the table, sipping tea and watching through the window as a narrow barge drifted slowly past down Regent's Canal.

Meanwhile, Ron dug around in the cupboard looking for a jar of marmalade and stole a peek at Hermione out the corner of his eye. He knew her well enough to know that the look clouding her eyes was worry. And he thought he might know what she was worried about.

He sat opposite her at the little table and spread marmalade on his toast. Taking a bite, he chewed and watched her, still staring out at the water with her teacup pressed lightly to her lips.

"It'll be all right, you know," he said after a little while.

"Hmm?"

"I said it'll be all right. Going to Cornwall, I mean."

Hermione tore her eyes away from the window and looked at him. "How did you know I was thinking about that?"

"Dunno," he answered with a shrug and took another big bite of his toast. "I just knew. Point is, it'll be all right. You don't have to do it alone."

Hermione sighed and put down her teacup. "Thank you," she said quietly. She knew she needed to go back to Cornwall eventually to gather her few meager possessions and say goodbye to the handful of acquaintances she'd made there. But the thought of walking into that little cottage…

"It'll be hard, what with all the memories there," Ron continued, filling in her thoughts. He reached across the table to take her hand. "But we'll do it together, OK?"

They Side-Alonged down to Cornwall by late morning, landing just behind the pub where Ron, Harry and Hermione had breakfasted on that fateful day only a week or so prior. Had it only been a matter of days? It felt to both of them like a year had gone by since then. So much had happened. So much had changed.

They popped into the pub to eat lunch, and Hermione said her farewells to Gladys and Johnny, deciding to stick to the story Hermione also would tell her co-worker Sandy a bit later when they visited the library: She was moving to London to reunite with Rose's father, whom she introduced to them as Ron. When her friends asked after Rose — that is, after exclaiming in delighted tones how much Rose resembled Ron — Hermione explained that Rose wasn't with them at the time being. She was staying with family. It wasn't the *entire* truth, but it was close enough — or at least as close as Hermione could get.

Descending the library steps with Ron's arm wrapped comfortingly around her shoulder, Hermione realized she would actually miss the people she'd gotten to know in Cornwall. They were decent, caring folk, some of whom had helped her, quite unknowingly, to endure the very worst period of her life. She regretted that she would likely never see any of them again, but she'd never be able to explain the situation with Rose — that is, not without modifying peoples' memories, and she was determined never to perform that kind of magic again.

"You all right?" Ron asked as the reached the bottom of the steps.

Hermione leaned a bit closer to his side, taking comfort in his warmth for a moment before collecting herself. "I am thanks to you," she said softly. Then she took a deep, fortifying breath, squared her shoulders and turned them toward the lane that led to the cottage. "Now for the hard part," she said, and they strode together toward the little house that had been her home with Rose for three difficult yet amazing years.

She paused on the front porch before sliding her key into the lock, but only long enough to look up into Ron's eyes and be energized by his reassuring smile. Then she carried on and opened the door.

Ron followed her inside the lounge and grimaced at the sight — it was exactly as Harry and the two of them had left it on that awful day when they took Hermione and Rose to the Burrow, effectively in the custody of the Ministry's Auror Department. The blankets Ron and Harry had slept in were piled neatly on the sofa. The wallpaper bore a mark where Ron had flung his tea in anger. He took out his wand and removed the stain.

Hermione saw what he was doing. "It's OK," she said at just above a whisper. "The landlord was going to redo that wallpaper anyway."

"It's not that," he said, stowing his wand back in his pocket. "I just hate being reminded of how I acted that day."

She placed a hand on his shoulder. "That's all behind us now, remember?"

He blinked a few times, feeling a lump rise in his throat, but he pulled himself together for Hermione's sake. He knew he needed to be strong for her now, though he hadn't quite come to grips with how difficult that would be until just then.

"Here, let me show you a few things." Hermione took Ron by the hand and led him down a small, narrow hallway that led from the lounge past the bathroom and toward the two bedrooms at the back of the cottage. She pushed open the door to her left and pulled him gently into a small, brightly lit room: Rose's nursery.

He gasped, but he wasn't aware of it — he was too busy taking in the sight. It was a tiny room, but airy and sunny. Cozy, not cramped. The walls were painted a pale blue-green, contrasting sharply with the crisp white wood trim and the gauzy curtains filtering the afternoon light. Rose's crib was white as well, as was the bookshelf next to her bed and the rocking chair beside it, where Ron was sure Hermione had spent many an hour reading to their little girl. A round rug, a swirl of pink, peach and white roses against a background of palest yellow, anchored the space. Several stacks of blocks, a small pile of books, and a stuffed dog sat at the center of floor, where Rose no doubt left them when last she'd played there.

"Here," Hermione whispered, snapping Ron from his reverie. He turned and saw she was pointing at a series of penciled notches on the white-lacquered doorframe behind him. "Once she was able to stand on her own, I measured her every month." Ron bent to look. The first pencil mark, labeled "October 1999," rose to just beneath Ron's knee. "November 1999," was a half inch or so above that, and so on. March 2000 must have been an especially good month, he noticed, because Rose shot up a full inch in just a few weeks' time.

"And here," Hermione continued, as Ron struggled to swallow past the lump in his throat and straightened up to follow her. She took one small picture frame down from the bookshelf, and then another.

"Here she is at eight months," Hermione said, handing Ron a white frame containing a muggle-style picture of Rose, sitting with her favorite stuffed bunny in her lap and dressed in a light blue dress, an open-mouthed grin lighting her face beneath a pile of downy ginger curls. "And here she is in her Halloween costume last year," Hermione continued, handing him a frame holding a photo of Rose dressed up like a fuzzy lion, a few renegade locks peeking out around her face from beneath her costume mane.

Ron blinked a few times and swallowed hard. "A Gryffindor through and through, isn't she," he said with a raspy voice.

He stood staring at the image for a full minute before Hermione gently slipped the frame from his hand and placed it back on the shelf. She stepped away from him and rummaged through the closet, pulling out a large box and placing it on the floor.

She reached out to him, wordlessly asking for his wand, and he handed it over. With a few deft flicks — Ron was impressed by how easily magic came back to Hermione after so many years — the toys, photos, and bed linens, the flowered rug, clothes and, finally, the furniture, filed into the magically extended box in an orderly fashion, until the room was entirely empty.

"There," Hermione breathed. "So much easier than doing it the muggle way."

The noise of the objects shrinking and sorting themselves must have muffled a smaller noise emanating from the hallway, but now that the room was empty, it was audible: a soft, rhythmic bumping sound, like tiny knuckles rapping on the nursery door, which must have closed behind Ron and Hermione when they'd entered.

Ron opened the door and in drifted two tiny, pink trainers, which had apparently been trying to respond to Hermione's Levitate command much like the rest of Rose's possessions had, and yet had been thwarted by the closed door in their path. The sight caused Hermione's breath to hitch in her chest, and she grabbed the little shoes from mid-air as they drifted past on their way to the box. "I haven't seen these shoes in months," she said in a distracted voice.

"They must have been somewhere in the lounge — under the sofa, maybe," Ron said.

Hermione nodded, eyes fixed on the scuffed little shoes, their laces dangling forlornly. "I'd forgotten her feet were ever this small," she said, her eyes welling with tears. Clutching the little shoes to her chest, Hermione felt her legs give way from beneath her and she crumpled to the bare hardwood floor, sobs racking her frame as she leaned against the box containing every remnant of the child she'd once cared for in that very room.

"Oh, Ron, I miss her so much," she managed to say in a choked voice between sobs as Ron knelt next to her and hugged her, pulling her close until finally he was seated cross-legged on the floor with Hermione nestled between his legs, her head tucked beneath his chin as she cried into his chest. "It hurts."

"It's all right, love," he murmured into her hair. "Let it out."

Hermione struggled through wave after wave of tears, now and then thinking she'd touched bottom and was ready to resurface from the undulating tide of grief until she was overcome by another torrent of sobs. Through it all, she clung to Ron desperately, and he soothed her as best he could, fighting back tears of his own as he whispered encouragement into her ear.

"She's where she needs to be now, Hermione," he said. "You did it. You took care of her and got her back to her own time. She's safe now. But we'll see her again, love. We will."

Hermione caught her breath and exhaled shakily, trying to pull herself together. "I'm sorry," she sputtered. "I just … thank you, I … you're right, I know …"

"Shh," Ron said. "You miss her. It's OK."

"Oh Ron," she said, drawing in a deep breath and straightening up a bit as she wiped her eyes to look at him more clearly. "I'm just," she said, voice trembling, "I'm just … so glad you're here."

"Wild hippogriffs couldn't keep me away from you now, Hermione."

She sniffled out a tearful laugh. "I know. And that means so much. You have no idea." She looked around the now-empty room and shook her head. "When I think of all the restless nights I spent in this room … the nights when she was teething … the night she had a fever that just wouldn't go down … the times she would wake up in the middle of the night and call out for me just because she was scared for one reason or another, and I had to be brave for her even though I was scared, too…"

Her voice trailed off and she brought her eyes back to his. "Oh, Ronald, if you only knew," she said, "I always missed you. It was like a dull ache that would never go away. But at times like that…" She blew out a puff of air from her lips and shook her head again, raising her hand to his chin and studying his face. "Oh darling, I *longed* for you at times like that."

Ron, by then, was crying too, silent tears streaming down his cheeks. "You were a great mum. You *will* be a great mum." He tipped his forehead against hers and tightened his grip on her waist. "You will *never* have to face all that alone ever again, Hermione. Never. I promise you that."

Hermione wrapped her arms around Ron's neck and pulled him close, touching her lips tentatively to his. A moan rumbled through his chest, and he gave in, unable to hold back any longer as his lips parted hers, which still tasted of salt from her tears. She wound her arms around him, drawing him closer. That was all the encouragement he needed to deepen the kiss and pull her tight against him.

"I love you, Hermione," he breathed as they paused for breath before he plunged back in and kissed her soundly.

Heart pounding, Hermione hummed against Ron's lips. He was there with her, finally, in that little room where she had spent so many lonely and worried hours pining for him. And he was never going to leave her side ever again — she was certain of it. She loved him, more than she ever thought possible. Pressing her hands to his face, she sunk her fingers deep into his hair and pulled her lips away from his, just far enough to whisper, "I want you." She kissed him again and then pulled back again, saying it a bit more firmly this time, though her eyes were still pressed shut and her nose was still angled against his, as if she couldn't say what she needed to say if she were making eye contact: "I want you, Ron … please."

She could feel the heartbeat that had been pounding in her chest also echoing in her core, powered by years of unfulfilled desire. She was about to say "please" again when Ron removed her hands from his hair and clutched them to his chest, lifting his nose away from hers and speaking evenly, "Hermione, look at me."

She pressed her eyes even more tightly shut for a moment.

"Look at me," he repeated at a whisper. And she did.

He took a deep breath.

"Hermione Jean Granger, I want you like I have never wanted anyone or anything — *ever,*" he said solemnly, looking down at her with a sober expression that made her stomach flutter. "There is nothing I'd like more than to scoop you up, carry you into the bedroom across the way, and make love to you over and over and over again."

He paused to look down at their joined hands, still pressed firmly against his chest. "But," he continued, raising his eyes again to hers with the same penetrating gaze that was making her insides wobbly, "I can't — I *won't* — I won't make love to you if you're not ready, Hermione. Do you understand?"

She wasn't sure she did. She must have taken a second too long to think about it, because he read the look of confusion on her face and continued without waiting for a response. "I reckon I've done enough to hurt you over the years, Hermione, and I'm going to do my damnedest never to hurt you again. And, well, going to that level, *making love* … much as I'd like to go there, I want to be careful. You're emotional right now, and I don't blame you. If we're going to take that step … I just want you to be sure."

She *had* been sure, but something about Ron's words made Hermione even more certain. She felt her cheeks warm and she knew she must have begun to smile just a bit, because Ron smiled back at her tentatively in return.

He knew she was a virgin — the tests done on her when she was in custody confirmed as much, though he felt in retrospect what a terrible invasion of her privacy it was that he and everyone else now knew this — and she was quite positive he wasn't a virgin, though she chased that thought away for the time being. Now wasn't the time to indulge her curiosity over Ron's ill-fated relationship with Lavender, or with any other women for that matter, she thought with a shudder. There was a time, when she was much younger, when she would have lamenting not being Ron's first. But the pain and hardship of the last few years had taught her not to let such a bygone fantasy keep her from appreciating what was right in front of her in the here and now. She wanted Ron Weasley just as he was. She wouldn't trade him for anything. If he was more experienced than she — simply because he had lived the life she had tried so desperately to let him live — so be it. He could hardly be blamed for it. In the meantime, he was there, in the flesh, and she knew in her bones that he was once again what he had always been and always would be — utterly and entirely hers. And, after years of deprivation, she wanted what was hers.

"I'm sure, my love," she said in a small voice. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

Ron nodded once and set his jaw, rising to his feet and holding out his hand to pull her up to hers. Once she was standing, he swiftly scooped her into his arms and carried her through the doorway, crossing the hallway into what he correctly guessed was Hermione's bedroom just beyond.

Her room was darker than Rose's, the late afternoon sun muted by deep turquoise-blue curtains. Ron laid her atop her bed, kicking off his boots before climbing in after her. He settled in beside her, propped up on one elbow, and crushed his lips to hers, feeling the last remnants of restraint melt away as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back passionately.

Even if she'd had any left, Hermione's habitual reserve couldn't withstand the heat of Ron's kisses and caresses, his moans and ardent vows. She unbuttoned the top button of Ginny's blouse, then the next and the next, suddenly wanting nothing more than to shed the borrowed clothes that separated herself from Ron, not wanting to remain hidden from him for a moment more. Soon she was stretched out unclothed before him, unafraid.

"You're so beautiful, Mione," he said with a note of astonishment in his voice. And he *was* astonished, because he'd never done more than touch Hermione from through a layer of clothes. In the days and weeks immediately following the war, they'd never had the chance to do more than snog by the pond behind The Burrow or within the walls of the treehouse. So the sight of her, completely revealed to him, was simply breathtaking. "You are, without a doubt, the most beautiful sight I've ever seen, love," he said as he laid his hand on her waist and raised it, slowly, upward to cup her breast, which was fuller than he'd remembered it from so long ago. More womanly, as were her hips. "So beautiful." He lowered his lips to her nipple and kissed her there, drawing a deep hum from Hermione as a powerful jolt of energy coursed through her center.

She stitched her fingers into his hair, encouraging him to continue kissing one breast, then the other, as she writhed beneath him, her little toes caressing his shins.

"Mmmmmmm," she hummed as she released one hand from his hair to begin tugging at his T-shirt. He quickly leaned back and sat up to peel the shirt off, and paused when he heard her loud gasp.

"Oh, Ronald," she said in a shaky voice as he felt her fingertips trace the near-forgotten, slightly sore spot in the center of his back.

He peered over his shoulder at her and then remembered — the lightning-shaped scar.

"Does it still hurt?" she asked in a quavering voice, her fingers still ghosting over the surface of his skin.

He shrugged. The Dittany Fleur had put on it the previous day had helped tremendously. "It's just a bit tender is all," he said evenly.

Her light touch became a caress, and soon her hand was sliding appreciatively over his arms, more muscular than she remembered from their Hogwarts days, and, as he turned toward her, his bare chest, broader and more sculpted than it once had been.

He shimmied out of his jeans and pants next, and then laid beside her again, returning his lips to her breasts. The feel of his skin against hers was mildly intoxicating and she laid back, somewhat surprised that she wasn't nervous or self-conscious to be so exposed to him. "I love you so much, Ronald," she murmured. "So much."

His lips had traveled upward to her neck by then as his hand slid downward.

"Then just relax and let me take care of you now, love," he murmured, and the combined vibration of his deep, sonorous voice against her eardrum, his breath against her skin and the pulsing of his fingers transported her to somewhere beyond her cares and worries, beyond thinking, even beyond her grief, to a place that was all Ron and her, just the two of them. "Let me make you feel good, love," he whispered against the skin behind her ear. She was floating, stretched out beneath him, skin tingling at every point of contact with Ron's body. "Gods, you feel so good, Mione," he continued as he took her ear between his lips and nibbled at it gently before adding, "I've wanted you for so long … years … and you're mine now, aren't you?"

Hermione, eyes pressed shut and hands clutching Ron's solid shoulders, began to feel a familiar wave building within her, but this one was bigger than any she had experienced before, and soon it was crashing over her, and all she could do was be swept up in it and call out his name.

Ron, meanwhile, had raised himself up on his elbow again to watch her, mesmerized as the surge of pleasure rippled through her. A few moments later, she stilled his hand and opened her eyes, gasping for breath.

He'd expected her to take a moment to come down and thus was surprised when she'd looped her arms around his neck and pulled him downward, kissing him passionately. He answered with equal passion. In any other circumstance, Ron might have lingered, seeking to make the moment last, but this wasn't such a time — there was too much pent-up emotion, too much desire, to tolerate any delay. Hermione Jean Granger — the girl he'd fancied since he was a kid, the woman who had moved heaven and earth to protect him, who had cared for his child and would do so again — was with him now, ready for him, and the thought made his heart race.

"Oh, Mione," he said in a raspy voice, "sweet Merlin, I want you."

"I want you too, Ron," Hermione answered. "Please."

Ron swiftly reached for his wand and performed a quick Contraceptive charm, then angled himself atop her, pausing to look her in the eye one more time. She understood his unspoken question and gave him a resolute nod.

As he nestled himself between her legs, it was as if the entire history of their relationship flashed in his mind in a few, rapid seconds — mountain trolls, Malfoys, quidditch stars, dragons, Death Eaters, prophecies and sacrifices — and yet, they'd survived it all and lived to claim this moment. And there was now so much future ahead, a future he wanted more than anything.

She was so soft, so warm, and becoming one with her was unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. Leaning back to check she was OK, he was relieved — and moved — to see that she was looking back at him with a warm, rapturous smile, tears streaming from her eyes.

"Someday," he said softly as he entered the very depths of her, and the hitch in her breath and gentle nod told him she understood his meaning perfectly. This act was a promise. Someday, hopefully not too far in the future, they would come together just like this and, by the most miraculous magic there is, would remake their very own Rose.

oooOOOooo

 _A/N — Oh, jeez, I love these two, and ermynee322's original story is endlessly inspiring. Please leave word and let me know how you like the story so far. Many thanks!_

 _Holly._


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Ron, still half asleep, shuffled from the bathroom and paused in the darkened hallway to lean against the doorframe of his bedroom and gaze upon a sight that still stopped his heart momentarily every time he saw it: Hermione, tucked snugly in his bed.

As she laid there, face lit by a narrow slice of moonlight filtering in through the curtains, it was clear she was sound asleep, and he was glad his need for a dead-of-the-night loo break didn't disturb her slumber. The move from Cornwall was exhausting enough, but the past few days, while exhilarating, had taken a certain toll on her, and she needed her rest. There was still so much unfinished business to attend to — sorting out what to do about her parents in Australia being top of the list, followed closely, at least in Hermione's mind, by the need to begin rethinking her abandoned career. There was the Shraxen prosecution to consider — Ron had fielded a few Auror Corps Owls about the case despite the fact that he was on leave. And there were still painful personal questions to be asked and answered, details to fill in for one another regarding their years of separation.

One such conversation earlier that evening had led, improbably, to something like a row — the last thing he'd been expecting given the closeness they'd experienced since their reunion. But, looking back on it, he reckoned he should have seen it coming. Lavender had always been a sore subject.

It didn't help matters that this particular dialogue had been sparked by Hermione's discovery of a pair of lacy, electric purple knickers tucked away in a dresser that Ron had absent-mindedly offered to Hermione for stowing her things.

"How many more of *these* am I likely to find around the flat," Hermione had asked with a smirk as she twirled the ridiculous undergarment over her head.

"Oh, shit — gods, Hermione, I'm sorry. I had no idea—"

"Were you holding onto this as a keepsake?" she had asked through a smile, though Ron sensed the edge in her voice.

"What? No! I had no idea that was even there, love, I promise. It must have been something she just left behind. I mean, it wasn't—"

"It doesn't matter," Hermione said crisply, cutting him off as she dropped the knickers onto the coffee table in front of Ron and returned to the bedroom.

Ron leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and ran his hands through his hair in exasperation. He heaved himself up from the sofa, Vanished the stupid knickers with his wand, and strode to the bedroom, where he found Hermione seated on the bed, her back to the doorway. Her shoulders were shaking. _Blimey, was she crying?_

"Hermione, love—"

"Did you call her that?"

"What?"

Pivoting on the bed, Hermione had turned to him then, her glistening face confirming that she had indeed been crying.

"Did you … did you use that *expression* with her?" she asked quietly, her voice trembling.

Ron let out a long breath of air and lowered himself to the opposite edge of the bed, facing her but keeping his distance. "No, Hermione. I never called her that. I never used the 'L' word with her. Not ever."

"But, but…" Hermione shook her head and wiped her eyes savagely with her sleeve. "No, it's none of my business," she said, trying to sound more like herself. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. What happened happened. It's in the past."

Ron realized that if he were a smarter sort of bloke, he would simply agree with her and let the matter drop. But, after taking a deep breath and examining the stitching of the duvet beneath his knee, he exhaled long and hard again and shrugged. "Hermione, love, please listen to me."

She sniffled vigorously in response, then Conjured a handkerchief with her new wand and blew her nose.

He paused to gather his thoughts, looking to the ceiling for a moment before finding the right words and pressing on. When returned his gaze to Hermione's face, he saw from across the great span of the bed that she was listening intently, though her lower lip was still wobbling. _Shit_.

"I never told Lavender I loved her," he said. "You should feel good about that on one level, I suppose. I didn't feel it, so I couldn't say it."

She nodded slightly, and he took this as a sign that she was trying hard to hear him out.

"But that doesn't make me a hero," he continued, kicking himself internally for saying more than was probably wise. But after all the difficulties he and Hermione had been through, the need to be understood, to shoot straight with her — well, it was almost like a compulsion at this point. After all she'd done for him, he felt her owed her honesty at the very least.

"Merlin knows she tried to get me to say it — over and over again," he added. "I hurt her badly along the way. I know I did. I didn't mean to. So, she basically took what she could get, I think. And I let her settle for way less than love, Hermione. Which makes me a right bastard, really."

Hermione sniffled again and gave a slight nod. Ron couldn't help but laugh softly in response. She was right to agree with him. He wasn't proud of the way he'd treated Lavender — not in the past few years, and not back at Hogwarts. He couldn't explain how it had happened or why. It just … had.

"But why in Merlin's name did it have to be *Lavender,* Ron?" Hermione asked, pulling him from his thoughts. "Of all the women on God's green Earth, why her?"

Ron searched his mind. Why Lavender? Honestly, he hadn't given it a moment's thought until just then. Slowly, however, the answer seeped into his mind. Again, it wasn't the kind of realization that was likely to improve Ron's image of himself.

"Suddenly she was just … there," he said, fingering the stitching on the duvet as if it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen in his life. "She sort of, I dunno, showed up one day and attached herself to me, and I guess I felt … well … I felt sorry for her, honestly." He looked up and saw that she was looking at him directly, paying attention to his every word as if he were giving the most fascinating Arithmancy lecture she'd ever heard.

He gulped. "She'd been hurt at the Battle of Hogwarts. And, of course, none of us could quite remember how she'd survived the werewolf attack — that is, not until you returned to our memories. But anyway…" He cleared his throat and willed himself to continue. "I knew she was funny about her scars, and once we started dating again, I didn't want to do anything that would maker her think … oh, shit, I'm such an arsehole," he said, pressing his fists to his eyes.

"What do you mean?" she said, prompting him to slowly drop his hands and return his eyes to hers.

"I mean, I sound like I'm trying to say I slept with her because I pitied her. Or that it was her fault or some rubbish like that," he said angrily — though his anger wasn't directed at Hermione. It was entirely directed at himself. "The truth is, I don't bloody know why I did what I did. She *appeared* one day and acted like she was my girlfriend again and I played along. I don't know why. I have nothing to say to defend myself, love, nothing."

To his surprise, when he focused again on Hermione, he saw that the corners of her mouth were curled into a slight, sad smile — though tears were welling up in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Ronald," she said with a quaver in her voice. "I have no right … no right to interrogate you. I wiped your memory. I left you and I hoped you'd live a happy life without me. And it's wrong for me to resent you for living it, for being happy."

Ron straightened up. "That's where you're wrong, Hermione. I wasn't happy. I wasn't exactly miserable, either. But there was always, *always* something I couldn't quite place … a feeling like, like there was a hole inside me. Lavender couldn't fill it, though great Gandalf knows she tried. And I let her try, because I didn't know…"

He trailed off, his heart pounding as he searched for more words.

"I didn't know that no one could fill it," he said firmly. "No one but you."

They had made love then, tearing at one another's clothes and coming together as hungrily as if it had been the first time, though the truth was that they'd made love more than a dozen times in just the first few days of their reunion, so eager were they to close the gap that had formed between them.

He hadn't been gentle this time. There was a point to be made, and something in him demanded that it be put across forcefully, so she wouldn't forget it.

"Hermione," he'd said gruffly, with a firm grip on the hair at the nape of her neck. "Look at me," he breathed, and she complied, melting completely as he pressed her more firmly into the mattress beneath him, each thrust warming her from the inside out by degrees until she could feel herself brimming over, like a cup of wine on the verge of overflowing. "You're mine," he said, pulling back a bit so she could see his face in the lantern light. "You're mine," he repeated, thrusting again, "and I'm yours. And there's no one else. Ever."

She had crested then, crying out his name, and he followed. Moments later, he collapsed next to her and pulled her close into a side-by-side embrace. As she curled up beside him, her core still throbbing, she realized something big, something ancient, had shifted in her mind: her fear of losing him. Somehow she knew she need never worry about it again — and the conviction was so strong that she wondered how she could ever have worried about it to begin with.

They'd fallen asleep then, wordlessly agreeing that this was the last time they'd ever question one another's true feelings.

"Are you going to stand there all night?" Hermione whispered, breaking Ron from his trance and returning him to the present moment in the darkened bedroom.

Ron straightened up and stepped through the doorway. "Sorry, love, I didn't mean to wake you."

"No worries," she murmured. "Come back to bed."

He climbed in and pulled her close, planting a kiss on her forehead.

"Go back to sleep, love," he whispered.

And she did, smiling at the thought that he'd always reserved that particular endearment for her — and always would.

oooOOOooo

 _A/N — A short chapter this time. I hope you enjoyed it!_

 _Cheers,_

 _Holly._


	6. Chapter 6

Friends,

After months of deliberation, I am declaring both of my recent stories — "Fate or Fortune" and "The Way We Will Be" complete as of today. It so happens that both tales currently stand at a place where a writer could reasonably call them done. But the truth is, I've really lost the heart for writing these stories.

You see, while many of you have been so kind as to reach out to me with positive reviews as well as private words of encouragement, I have also recently received my fair share of nastygrams via FFN's private messaging. It's hard to tell who these people are — they're mostly anonymous — but they have let me know in no uncertain terms that they think very little of my work, and even less of me as a writer and a person.

I do this for fun. And being attacked isn't fun.

I'm not the most confident writer under the best of circumstances, but in light of this negative feedback — and the fact that my writings haven't seemed to connect with the broader Romione community in the way that other authors' works have — I find myself hopelessly deadlocked with a near-terminal case of writers block. I find myself constantly asking, "Will my critics think I am stealing this idea? Will readers be offended by this topic?"

So, I think it's best to hang it up. I'm proud of the works I have offered here, and I am glad some of you have enjoyed them.

I imagine some of my anonymous critics will repeat their claim that I'm a drama queen. It's sort of a can't win, innit? ;-)

Anyway, thanks to all of you who have been so supportive along the way — particularly chemrunner57, bless his heart — and look for me in the review section of some of your favorite Romione stories. I'm still a Romione fan, and I will always support the writers who are doing such wonderful work. If you're looking for a good, fresh Romione read, surf over to TMBlue. As I have said before, she is producing some of the most consistently wonderful work to be found anywhere in the Romioneverse. Her latest shortie, dubbed "Trace" on Tumblr, is a thing of true beauty.

All the best...

Holly.


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